Certain Truths
by Lorial
Summary: Being a Grey Warden is hard enough, but with also being Dalish on top of that, the Warden's task more demanding. Her race wins her little respect with some and is keeping her from her love - Alistair, the new King of Denerim. Will things change for her?
1. Dying Embers

"What will you do now? Will you stay with the Grey Wardens?" The King had asked while standing there before the court in the palace at Denerim. The emotions were held back and swallowed away while Alistair regarded Ferelden's hero, the elf, woman - Grey Warden, he loved. He was now the King of Ferelden and looked every part as he was dressed within Cailan's armor, stood up tall, and addressed the other Warden - his lover - with an air of superiority.

The Dalish Warden stood up straight and stared back directly at Alistair, the King, with an icy gaze that would make Morrigan's usual cold gaze look warm and smitten. "I'm going home," she responded towards him in an unwavering voice before turning to address her friends and companions and then finally leave without offering him another glance or another chance to speak with her again.

* * *

Beads of sweat dripped from Alistair's face as he quickly awoke within his bed. Another nightmare had shaken the King awake. Lately, sleep was something he was starting to believe was a myth and the dark bags underneath his eyes were proof of such.

"By the Maker," he muttered darkly to himself before wiping the sweat from his forehead and placing his face within his hands as though there would be some sign of respite for him to hide in there. One month had passed since the horrible events at the Landsmeet. Anora was still locked within one of the towers and Alistair was still unused to some of the responsibilities that were burdened upon him as King - especially with how pressing Eamon was being about a potential heir.

It had all gone wrong along the way, but he had no idea where and it constantly nagged at the back of the King's mind.

He knew he couldn't keep hiding away from the royal court forever and that eventually he was going to break. The questions, the guilt, and the emotions were all locked away behind floodgates; the brick and mortar of those gates were starting to give way...

Rising from his bed, Alistair moved towards his armoire. Rather than donning his half-brother's golden armor, as he usually did for his public outings, the King chose a tailored suit of deeply colored twill and silk.

Before closing the doors to the armoire though, something caught his attention - a small black pouch that he had wedged into one of the back corners so no one could find it. It remained in it's hiding spot since he moved into the royal palace at Denerim and he never bothered to look at it since. The man closed his eyes and breathed out a heavy sigh. There were many memories tied to that pouch - many which he knew he should put out of his mind, but he couldn't...

* * *

"I have something for you," she said while approaching Alistair's tent at the party's camp just outside of the Southern Hills, in the forests.

"Oh, really?" He questioned while arching a curious brow towards the other Warden. "Should I be scared? Is it something from Oghren? ...It is, isn't it? He's had it in for me since I spilled his drink at Tapsters. How was I supposed to know that was a rare brew he was drinking?"

The elven woman swatted at Alistair's arm. "Quiet, you. It's not from Oghren, I promise." She sat down beside him and removed a small black pouch from one of her packs, offering it to him. "I want you to have this... It's - sentimental."

"A - pouch? Thanks?" Came the confused response from Alistair, but as he went to take it from her, he realized there was something inside of it. As he pulled open the drawstring, his fingers dipped inside and withdrew a small figure that was carved out of ironbark. It resembled a woman, but he couldn't make out the details as anything he knew.

"It's Andruil, Goddess of the hunt," the female Warden pointed towards the wooden figure that Alistair held within his hands. "She's very important to me. My vallaslin is in honor to her." To add to her point, the elf pointed towards her face and the large blood tattoo that covered the bridge of her nose and up along her brows and forehead.

Alistair sat there, looking towards the figure and feeling its smooth texture between his fingers before looking towards the other Warden as she explained her tattoo. "I had wondered about that. But, you know, was too afraid to ask."

"Too afraid? Why on earth would you be afraid to ask?" The very thought seemed to amuse the elven woman.

"Well, I've seen you around _Shems_. You're not too fond of all the questions and insinuations," Alistair shrugged towards her - admittedly, a bit worried about getting on her bad side.

"You are _not_ a Shem, Alistair," she corrected him. "I just don't look kindly upon those that mean to harm my people. They are my family - all of them. Anyone who throws the term Knife Ears my way is going to regret it."

"Like Cailan?"

The elf looked away from Alistair at that point, steadying her gaze upon the ground beneath her feet. "That was a mistake," she uttered in a low voice. "When I came to Ostagar, I trusted no one, not even Duncan. All humans were dirty Shems looking to manipulate me - the elf." She then paused and looked up towards the sky, still averting her gaze from Alistair - as the thought of her foolishness deeply hurt, especially now, after discovering his blood relation to her fellow Warden. "Cailan came on very strong about his opinions of the Dalish. I did what I knew to do - fight back, at least with words... If I had known that would be my only interaction with him, I never would have done it."

Sympathy found it's way to Alistair's face as he watched her speak, seeing and hearing the pain within her words. Leaning in, he wrapped a comforting arm around his fellow Warden and lover. "Kathalla, that wasn't your fault. You know we'll get back at Loghain for what he did that day." With that, he leaned in close to place a light kiss upon her cheek and then decided a change of subject was best. "Tell me more about Andruil." He was never one to dwell on the bad.

A bright smile appeared on Kathalla's face as she was met with that kiss. The change of subject was appreciated, even silently. "Those that follow her remember her three teachings, Vir Tanadhal. The first, Vir Assan, is the way of the arrow. Strike true, and never waver. The second, Vir Bor'assan, is the way of the bow. Bend, but never break. And the third is Vir Adahlen."

"And that is?" Alistair asked while still holding the figure in his hand.

"The way of the forest. That together, we are stronger than one." Now Kathalla looked up into his eyes and smiled, adding depth to the meaning of the last part of the teachings. "Together, you and I, both Grey Wardens - a human and Dalish elf, have been stronger than whole armies across Ferelden."

Alistair felt the impact of those words. He placed the figure back in the pouch and carefully put it within one of his own packs. "I swear on my life, I will never forget this, Kathalla." His words were sincere and earnest. "Ma serannas," then came out in barely a whisper towards her - a simple word of thanks in her language, which was one of the few words he had picked up from her, yet was too scared to say it too loud, as though he may get it wrong if he were to do so.

But what Alistair received in return was the brush of her lips against his. His words, despite how low they were, did not break or fall on deaf ears.

* * *

There was another sharp inhalation as Alistair grabbed at that pouch and stuffed it into his pocket before closing the doors to the armoire and leaving his large bedroom chamber.

One of the guards that was on duty on the other side of that chamber door lifted a curious brow as he watched his King storm off in the middle of the night. "Ser?" He asked simply with concern strewn into the word.

It caused Alistair to pause within his steps before he turned around to face the guard. He straightened his back, standing tall and gaining that imposing posture that all Kings should have when addressing others beneath them. "I am still in my chamber. You never saw me, understood?" His voice sounded rather strong and intimidating, leaving little room for an actual decision to be made on the guard's part.

"Yes, Ser!" Was the quick fired response in return, as the guard stood at attention.

Alistair then turned around and continued down the long hallway, taking back passages to avoid being seen and eventually coming to one of the little known back exits of the palace - a tunnel that was created to allow the royal family a quick escape, should the palace ever fall. The man then made his way towards the stables with only the bright light of the full moon to guide his path.

After mounting his steed, he kicked at the horse's sides and quickly left the palace gates and Denerim all together. He had to do this, and he had to do this alone...


	2. Provocation

It took Alistair a whole day or two to reach his destination, the south lands around Ostagar. He had no map on him, nor any weapons - which, in hindsight, was a rather large mistake on his part as he traveled through the wilds and relied on any herbs within the saddle bags for sustenance to last him to his destination.

To where his exact destination was - even he didn't know. The King was simply following the words of the city elves in the Alienage and their Keeper, whom was on his advisory board now... She would have appreciated that.

Despite there no longer being darkspawn upon the surface of the world, there were still dangers that lurked in the wilds - bandits, wild creatures, and worse things that were crafted from magic and left to their own accord to do whatever ill they desired. Dusk was soon approaching as the sun started to settle along the horizon and still, he pressed his horse onwards, which often whinnied angrily in response.

Just as the sun was about to fully disappear and Alistair was starting to think his search was all for naught, something caught his eye in the distance. It was a bright light, as though a beacon, and shadows appeared to sway and dance around it in an almost mesmerizing pattern. It could have been a trap set up by an apostate or shade - but with no other place to turn and the sounds of wolves howling in the distance as they were starting to head out for their hunt, the light source was as good a place to try as any...

* * *

The Dalish danced around a rather large bonfire that rose almost as tall as they stood. A feast of fruits and cooked game were set up along long tables and the most fragrant teas and spirits were ready to be served. Music met the sound of the crackling flame as the elves danced and were merry. Tonight they dined and celebrated in honor of their Creators. The people were joyous, and this was rare. Some of the clans had come together to live with one another in the newfound lands that the King had bestowed upon them. They now had a home and were still celebrating as progress forged on.

For the moment, small wooden homes, huts, and aravals that housed tents dotted the landscape as many of the Dalish from numerous clans had just ended their long journey to the place they now call home.

Sitting along a wooden log bench, an elf sat and watched the celebration unfold before her, but there was little humor and spirit upon her face as she glanced about, expecting any sign of human bandits to make themselves known.

"You're doing it again, Kathalla." The voice came from a familiar sounding suave rogue.

Kathalla glanced up to see Zevran with two female elves on either arm and a wide grin upon his face. "We're only going to be here for a few more days, you know. You should be celebrating!" With a grin and a wink towards his female friend, he offered, "I know I am."

Kathalla scoffed, "It looks like you're going to celebrate enough for the both of us..."

"Not unless that's an actual offer, my friend. The more, the merrier, no?"

Unable to help herself, Kathalla was able to manage a smile at Zevran's suggestion. She was used to his demeanor. Despite his frequent flirting, she had come to accept the fellow elven assassin as a close friend with whom she decided to travel with and learn from after leaving Denerim. "I appreciate the thought," came out in a soft tone, "but I don't think I'll be much fun."

"Ah, suit yourself." Releasing the women at his sides, Zevran knelt down before his friend and playfully added, "I'll get you one day. Until then, might I suggest you try and be cheerful for the evening? You'll regret this mopiness when we leave."

"I'm not moping, Zev!" She retorted towards him while sucking on her teeth, thus proving him right. "Someone has to stay guard amidst the drunkenness." It was a good excuse as any.

As though on cue, right after she spoke those words, excited shouts and calls were heard from the edge of the settlement. They weren't signs of alarm - quite the opposite, actually. They were shouts of excitement, but they still caught the attention of both elves.

"I always miss the fun," Zevran teasingly bemoaned as he stared off at the distance, wondering what he just missed.

A male elf then quickly approached the two of them. He was donning costume vestments for the celebration and a mask that resembled that of a Halla head. "There you are, Lethallan!" A hand extended towards Kathalla. "Come, your friend has arrived."

Kathalla blinked and quickly exchanged a confused glance between the man and Zevran. "My friend? ...My friend is right here," she indicated towards Zevran, who also appeared thoroughly dumbfounded on who the man could be speaking of.

"No, another one!" He excitedly exclaimed as he took the Warden's hand and lead her away from her seat on the bench, seemingly almost dragging her away from the festivities.

Even with the lure of the women around him, it wasn't enough to get Zevran to just outright ignore his friend, especially right now. He quickly whispered something between the two women on his arms, who tittered girlishly in return, and then drew out his blades, dashing into the underbrush to keep track of Kathalla from the shadows should things go wrong - or this 'friend' be out for possible blood.

"Where are you taking me?" Kathalla questioned the man in her native tongue. It soon became clear as he took her to a spot and released her hand. There was already a crowd of elves surrounding whoever was there. They laughed, spoke in kind words - whatever she was able to hear, and blocked her view of the person.

"Thank you, I appreciate the thoug- Oh, that's... Too kind... Yes, I - Wait, what?"

That voice! It couldn't have been him. It must have been the tea that was causing her to think she just heard...

"Alistair!"

Kathalla quickly looked to her side to see Zevran come out of the shadows with a wide grin upon his face and arms extended to greet the other man. It was him... She could feel the very blood within her veins run cold and her face growing paler by the second. All that the Warden could do was stand there in shock at the sight before her.

Eventually, Alistair was able to make his way out from the crowd of happy elves to greet Zevran. "You were the last elf I'd expect to see here, you know," he chided playfully before moving to hug the Antivan assassin. Alistair was dressed in the finest clothes that would fit a King on his days around the palace, much different from the blood-stained armor that he used to wear as a Grey Warden.

Still, Kathalla watched in stunned silence as the two men laughed and conversed lowly towards one another before Zevran pointed in her direction and winked towards her knowingly - letting Alistair know exactly where she was standing. He was going to be a dead Antivan, she thought to herself.

As his attention turned onto her, Alistair saw that she was the only one who was still in armor and not ceremonial dress. Even still, she looked as beautiful as the day he saw her with those exotic elven features and long brown hair. The other elves eventually parted and returned to the ceremonies to leave the two be - the two that saved their world and granted them land to call home. "Hello, Kathalla," came out in a low purr towards her as Alistair smiled brightly in her direction and approached her, as though nothing had changed between them at all.

Still, she stood there. Kathalla's eyes moved over his form, as though it was foreign to her - well, the clothes were, and she remained ever silent and wide eyed. Yet, the sight of his boyish looks and the sound of his voice elated a small part of her deep down that she wish she could deny. The thoughts that suddenly started running through her mind were almost dizzying. Was this real? Did someone spike her tea? Why was he here?

"I see you still got a way with the ladies," Zevran teased Alistair as he approached Kathalla. But she even disregarded his movement and couldn't take her eyes off of the human before her. That was until she felt a sudden sharp pain at her arm and quickly flinched away from Zevran, grabbing at the spot that just hurt. There was a sharp and loud curse towards Zevran in elven - something he wouldn't understand. "Did you just pinch me?" She barked towards him in an accusatory tone.

The Antivan laughed and shrugged lightly. "You look like you saw a ghost. Would you have preferred deathroot on the tongue to snap you out of that school girl daze?"

The reaction he was probably looking for never came. Instead, her gaze darkened towards him for a moment before she looked towards Alistair. The look held that same iciness he felt after his coronation, and it caused him to take a step back from her, the smile fading from his face.

"I did," she retorted loudly before glaring dead on at Alistair, "I don't associate with dirty _Shems_." There was a momentary pause before her voice raised a hitch and she withdrew her dagger - Duncan's, from its hilt. "Leave! You're not wanted here."

"Woah, hey now!" Alistair quickly countered as he raised his hands in the air in a defensive motion. "I'm unarmed, that's not exactly fair." Despite his bravado, the nervousness was apparent as his voice cracked a bit towards the end of that statement. But, he then cleared his throat, gaining that assertive tone back. "Kathalla, I'm not here for a fight, I just want to talk... I want to apologize."

The elf's grip tightened around the dagger and she visibly sneered at his words. But just as she was about to speak, more than likely to angrily yell towards Alistair, a light hand fell upon her arm...

"Sheath your weapon, Lathallan. This is a time for celebration, not bloodshed," The Keeper, Lanaya said in a calming tone. Obviously, she was alerted to what was going on. Turning towards Alistair, she smiled at him. "We are honored to have you here, Alistair. Please, join us in our festivities. It has been too long since we last spoke." She then moved to take Alistair by the arm and lead him away from Kathalla and the growing hostility the Warden was exhibiting.

A 'tsk' sound escaped from Zevran as he moved towards Kathalla. "I admire your tenacity, but for now, you really should relax, no?" He then moved to catch up with Alistair and Lanaya. "Here," he unsheathed one of his blades and handed it towards Alistair. "Next time, you'll be armed," the Antivan offered his friend with a teasing tone.

Kathalla glanced over her shoulder to watch the three of them depart, heading towards the celebration, but she did not follow. Instead, the woman inhaled a sharp breath as she tried to relax herself. The sudden tensing of her muscles as she went into fight mode was obvious by the white knuckles that gripped at her blade. This was a night for celebrating – a communal yearly event that all should enjoy. Yet, the Warden suddenly wished that the night be over as soon as possible.

Her hands relaxed and she replaced her blade within its sheath before heading back to her bench to sit down and watch the festivities as she was doing earlier – except this time she was keeping an eye out for a certain human amongst her people. The foreigner. _The Shem._


	3. Memories

It was the eve after the Landsmeet in Denerim had been called together. As the Warden gazed at the fire on the hearth in her room at Arl Eamon's estate, her head reeled. It wasn't fair for her to have been suddenly thrust into being the deciding factor for human politics – something which she knew little to nothing about, aside for what her intuition told her.

The Landsmeet had been an awful mess. As Loghain stood there and berated the Wardens and their party, the nobles screamed a mixture of racial slurs amongst other hateful things. The woman wanted to meet them with her blade and teach them all a lesson in respect, but she stood there, head held high, and took all of the verbal jabs without a flinch – until Anora made her treachery known. That was when the stoic pride that Kathalla knew was shattered and the blades came out.

She sighed and closed her eyes while still facing the hearth. At the start of this, she had been so controlled and careful, so patient and calm. There was something about Denerim that changed all of that: the filth, the greed, and the lack of regard for their elven citizens. Heck, she had almost emptied all of her pockets to the alienage beggars while there, simply out of sympathy for her flat-eared kin.

But deep in her heart she knew that not all humans were treacherous and scum-sucking. If Alistair didn't prove that, then Wynn certainly did. Kathalla had grown quite fond of the elder mage and her knowledge, often looking to her advice for decisions at times.

"Well, that wasn't exactly fun, but it could have been worse." Leliana offered as she entered the bedroom and took a seat on one of the plush chairs by the hearth to join her fellow Warden and friend.

Leliana, she had also been a true friend throughout all of this. Despite the mixed signals early on, the two became very close and the epitome of "gal pals"; although Kathalla could not understand the other woman's obsession with footwear.

"I have a massive headache," Kathalla lowly admitted as she finally looked towards her friend. "I don't understand why every race that has political upheaval asks _me_ to decide their fate."

"You're a Grey Warden. It's part of your responsibility and they look up to you."

"I'm Dalish! I lived in the woods and spent most of my life trying to _avoid_ interaction with other races, especially humans."

Leliana frowned for a short moment before her features brightened once more, ever the hopeful one. "If it makes you feel any better, I would have chosen the same thing. Alistair would be a great king, you know. He's charming, has seen plenty of battles – especially against darkspawn, and if there's royal blood in him, then he deserves the seat more than Anora. You saw how she turned on us! In Orlais, that isn't really frowned upon, but there was no subtlety, no tact. She dug her own pit by being so obstinate."

The Warden remained silent. The only sound that could be heard was the crackling wood from the flames on the hearth. Leliana reached out to take her friend's hand. "Kath, it'll be okay. You did the right thing," she assured. Still, it didn't feel right to Kathalla, but she squeezed Leliana's hand in thankful return.

The door to the bedroom suddenly swung open, with no knock, or warning. Alistair entered the room, dressed in his half-brother's golden armor. There was a hard-lined look to his face as he addressed Kathalla with a stern, "We need to talk."

Already, the Warden felt her stomach drop down to her knees just from that one sentence. She didn't let go of Leliana's hand, but instead held onto it as she prepared to brace herself for impact. The woman knew that this wasn't going to be good.

"I'm not exactly happy with what happened earlier," Alistair started, his gaze sharp and almost stabbing. But then his features softened and he sighed heavily. "But, I won't question it. Anora shouldn't be allowed anywhere near that throne, and – hey, royal bastard here..."

"Alistair, I only did what I thought—"

"I'm not done," he interjected with a raised hand. Tone softening, he added, "Please, Kathalla, just listen to me..." There was a long pause afterwards, as though he were trying to gather his thoughts or seek out the correct words to use to lessen the pain. "I'm going to be king now, maybe. There are certain responsibilities with that, with royal blood... You understand that I'm going to be required to have an heir."

Kathalla remained silent as she listened, but a brow arched upwards in a curious gesture to his words.

"Wardens don't live long because of the taint, but you knew that already. And two tainted Wardens trying to conceive is frowned upon – and near impossible." Again, Alistair paused as he glanced away for just a short moment. "And... You know I love you, right? Because I do."

"I love you too," Kathalla murmured in return. She had a bad feeling with where this was going, but didn't – couldn't – say much else aside for simply listening to him speak and beat around the bush as he always did when the news was bad.

Finally, Alistair inhaled sharply, bracing for the impact as well. In a hasty tone, he let it all out at once. "We need to end this. I'm going to be king and you're..."

"Dalish..."

He frowned. "Well, a Warden with the taint, but yes, that too." He watched her face shift as she tried to hold her composure and appear strong against the blow, yet he desperately wanted to do nothing more than hold her, even kiss her for one last time, but he made no motion. Alistair knew that if he did, he'd never be able to leave her. The pain was too much, even for him. "I don' want to end it. I love you so much, Kathalla..."

"Then don't!" She suddenly barked at him as her grip tightened around Leliana's hand and she felt the wave of emotion creeping up on her. "What is this? 'Thanks for taking my virginity and keeping me company while we thought the world was about to end, but now I have to leave'?" Quickly, she winced and looked away, trying to stem the flow of the tears that were threatening to escape. "You can't really just abandon everything we have. You know for a fact that if we didn't have each other, watching each other's back the way we did, we wouldn't be standing here right now!"

Alistair frowned as he watched his lover in pain. A fist balled up angrily, at himself more than anyone else. Yet, his voice remained strong, by some miracle of composure. "I know," he whispered. "This isn't exactly what I hoped for, but I have duties to fulfill now, Kathalla, and they're more than just Grey Warden matters."

"Don't do this, Alistair. Please," she whispered to him, still unable to find the strength to say the words any louder. "We can make it work, I know we can find a way... Two Grey Wardens fended off a Blight. Creators Grace, we could work on _this_ if we accomplished that!"

He sighed, averting his gaze down to the stone flooring beneath his feat. "I can't, Kathalla..."

She grew silent for a moment before placing her hand over her heart. "I need you, Alistair. You're my link to understanding this world... I-I trust you. I opened up to you... I-I love you."

But there was no response for her in turn... Alistair still didn't look directly at her. The pain was too much for even him to bear.

Now Kathalla turned to look at him. The tears had not escaped and her features hinted at a mixture of pain and anger as she tried to hide them away as best as she could. While all of this was going on, Leliana remained seated, watching the two silently, with her hand in Kathalla's for support. "So, this is it? You're just walking away?" Kathalla asked him in a low voice, unable to find the strength to make it be heard any louder. With a sigh, she gave in and closed her eyes, secretly wishing this was all a dream. "I'm sorry it had to end this way then."

Never let them see you hurt. She was as stoic and stubborn as a mule. Yet, she was a good person and didn't deserve this. Alistair didn't believe so, at least. Quietly, he spoke – something personal and in elven, "I'm sorry." Reverting back to the human language, he returned to the matter at hand and added, "Arl Eamon's already preparing at Redcliffe for the fight against the arch-demon. I'm... I'm going to camp. Please, don't follow me. I need to be on my own for a while. I need to – collect myself. You can hate me all you want, Kathalla, but please, make it after the fight tomorrow. We have to be strong to end the Blight. Together."

There were no other words from either of them. Alistair felt his heart was heavy as he turned around to leave the two women be, closing the door behind him. He then stood there and released a shuddered gasp as tears made their way to his eyes. His strength had left him and he suddenly felt empty inside. He'd no longer have his lover by his side and wished this never came to be. But for now, he inhaled sharply and put on a strong face of his own as he proceeded to walk down the hallway and leave the estate without looking back. He had to be strong: For himself, his friends, the people of Ferelden, and all of Thedas.

"Kath, I'm so sorry..." Leliana offered as she stood up, saddened by what just happened. She had seen how the two had come to love each other and even teased her friend frequently about Alistair in light-hearted amusement. But now? Now she was feeling sick herself.

Kathalla stood there, stunned. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and just fall to her knees, giving up – but couldn't. He was right about the arch-demon. There was no time for their emotions right now. That would be selfish of them... So, she stood there visibly shaken as every nerve within her was bitten raw. She then suddenly felt something and flinched out of her stupor as she found herself being hugged by Leliana in a comforting manner. All that the Warden could do was lean into her friend's embrace and pray – to shield herself from the pain and for her to have the strength to carry her into the coming battle the next day which would decide all of their fates.


	4. Nihilism

A good hour or so passed and the celebrations were coming to a fevered pitch as nearly the whole settlement was now dressed in celebratory garb and dancing merrily. Still Kathalla sat there and simply watched the festivities before her, now more alert than she was previously. There had been no signs of the two fools since Lanaya intervened, so she at least decided that it may be best to indulge on some food and spirits before they were all gone.

The drums swayed the hearts of the dancers around the large bonfire as the other instruments kept up with the rhythmic timing. It had been a long time since Kathalla had danced as the many did around the fire right now. She felt the hypnotic pull of the drums luring her in, but continuously tried to deny them as she watched instead. A rare treat she was denying herself, and she knew it.

Standing by the tables where the feast was held is a sure-fire way to gain trouble, and it eventually made its way over towards her in garb of silk and twill. Kathalla ignored Alistair as he motioned to stand beside her, also watching the celebrations.

"I'm not really a Shem, am I?" He asked lowly, voice sounding a bit offended by the word she had used earlier to describe him.

"Shouldn't you be talking to your _other_ elven friend?"

There was a slight shrug from Alistair as he lowly stated, "Zevran's - busy. You know him... But really, answer the question."

Kathalla rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest. It wasn't exactly an ice-breaker statement. It took her a moment before she finally looked up towards him, as she feigned both awe and excitement in her voice, "Oh, I do apologize good Ser, King, Ser!" She was never good on the human protocols for all of their small nuisances with interactions. "Please allow this humble knife ears to polish your shoes for free!"

Taken back, Alistair now crossed his arms in front of his chest, and took on a pained look. "I never called you that, you know. _Ever_! ... You know I don't think that way. I even invited the elder of the City Elves to be in my advisory board at the palace. At the least, I thought you could appreciate that."

Still in that mocking tone, the Warden returned with, "Oh, I am ever so thrilled. Shall we bed then, right now, to honor your great feat?"

"That's enough!" Alistair shouted towards her. "I am not an idiot, and you know I can't stand it when people talk down to me. I got that my entire life and I'm still being referred to as The Royal Bastard by some of the Banns." Angrily pointing towards her, he added, "You're acting like a child, like Morrigan even, when I came here to try and talk to you - apologize for what I did. I know I was wrong, but I never spoke down to you, or about you, even when others asked. I _always_ showed you respect, Kathalla!"

She remained quiet and didn't look towards Alistair as he had his fit - only because she may have been inclined to hurt him if she did, because he was right. Her voice lost all of its animosity and no longer dripped with venom as she lowly stated, "The King cannot be seen in a relationship with a Knife Ears. Just as your people believe that one shouldn't be a Warden, to wade in their human business, when I know nothing of their world..."

Alistair grew quiet. This was more than just him breaking up with her after he was announced to take the throne, it involved the Landsmeet as well and how they won little favor over the nobles as they shouted their racial slurs at her, and even turned against her. "But that isn't me, Kathalla. I granted your boon for land for your people. I even tried to help fund the settlement with whatever I could slide under the table."

"So we could get ambushed almost weekly by human bandits and refugees that come through here and hold their grudges against us? We don't belong near Ostagar to them. We still have to fight in order to prove ourselves. This land only makes matters worse because we're now an easy target to be attacked!" The bitterness of the humans was beginning to break the Warden. "I had done so much, in the name of my people... Creators graces, that's the only reason I became a Grey Warden - and _nothing_ has changed!"

Rather than try to prove her wrong, despite the fact that she was to some degree, Alistair moved to hug her. It was a bold move, especially for him – here, as a Shem amongst elves. "It can't happen overnight. People hold fears. They will change though." Even more brazen of him, and possibly very stupid, he brushed his lips against her ear and whispered to her in the elven tongue, "I love you." Again, it was one of the few statements he had learned from her while they were together.

Ever the fighter, Kathalla straightened uncomfortably as she felt his arms wrap around her small frame. The warmth of his touch was something that she had missed and didn't fully realize it until just now. Her eyes closed and she felt part of herself wanting to give in. But when those words were uttered, and in her tongue, she did all but melt to his touch. Instead, she moved. To anyone looking towards the two, it would have appeared to look like an elaborate dance step, but that was only the mask to hide her actions – something she had picked up from Zevran. Kathalla whirled, ducking under the embrace of his arms and she pulled her blade from its hilt in one swift motion. Holding it close to her, she side-stepped and slashed at Alistair's cheek. His words were an insult to her – one that she would not tolerate.

The motion was so precise and hasty, that no one seemed to notice aside for Alistair himself as he hissed in pain and grabbed at his cheek, which was now dripping blood down along the side of his face. "By the Maker! _Have you lost your mind, woman_?"

Kathalla watched Alistair try to stem the flow of the blood by applying pressure to the source with the sleeve of his silken shirt. Sadly, as satisfying as she had originally thought it to be, wounding him only made her feel worse. Her featured changed from a quick rising anger to suddenly looking very regretful. "Abelas," she quietly uttered towards him. Immediately, she felt her stomach sink. Here she was speaking of the pains her people had to endure, and she just mindlessly harmed the one person who has been trying to help...

With a deep inhalation, she motioned to remove his silken arm from his wound, but Alistair flinched away. "You're not doing that again!" He retorted, still hissing at the pain beneath his eye. "I knew Zevran was a bad influence, Maker's breath."

"Alistair, I'm sorry," she remarked in a sincere tone that was greatly different from what he had heard of her since he arrived. "Please, let me help. If you get blood on your clothes, people may question..."

"Oh, and a bloody scabbed up sliced cheek won't? ...What happened to your cheek, Alistair? Oh, don't worry, I just walked into a _bloody sword_ and didn't know it was there!" Was the wisecrack response from him in typical Alistair fashion.

"You're trying to make me feel bad now," Kathalla accused as she sheathed her dagger and forcefully took his hand, leading him to the wooden hut that belonged to her mother. There wasn't much inside, nor was there much room. It was something he wasn't used to anymore as the palace was much too large for him to even feel comfortable in. There was a small hearth for a fire, and two small rooms for beds. Strewn out along a table by the hearth were many different herbs of various types and rarities.

She led him to that table and had him sit down in a chair. "If my mother comes here, then you _did_ fall on my blade." Quickly, the elf got to work with mending the wound. She took some elfroot extract and rubbed it on a bandage before trying to apply it to his face. "There, now stop your crying," she remarked quietly before plucking a single green herb from a collective bunch and offering it to him. "Eat this, it tastes horrible, but will quicken the healing."

Alistair did as instructed - or at least tried to as he attempted to chew on the herb, but the potent sharp bitter taste almost made him spit it out. "Horrible is an understatement!" He grumbled, but went on with attempting to chew and swallow that herb. Whatever it is, he'll never want to touch it again! Once he was able to stomach talking again - which took him a good few minutes, as the after taste was even more cutting on the tongue than chewing that plant, he looked towards Kathalla, "That hurt, you know."

"I already apologized, Alistair. What more do you want from me?" She stood up from her seat and gazed out the window towards the festivities outside, concentrating more on them than she was Alistair. "Do you want me to turn myself into your palace guards? Tell them I cut their King?"

"No... The Shem thing," he offered quietly as he watched her and drew something from his pocket, placing it down on the table before him. "I still kept it, you know."

Despite facing away from him, Kathalla's gaze visibly lowered to the floor. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" An eyebrow arched curiously as she turned to look at what he was speaking of. There on the table was the small black pouch that she had given him long before they were ever parted. Her voice caught within her throat as she excitedly murmured, "Andruil." She approached the table, taking a seat across from Alistair and moved to open the pouch. The small wooden figure of Andruil was still in perfect condition as the day she gave it to him. "I-I thought you got rid of it."

Alistair shook his head. "I told you I'd never forget it." He watched the elven Warden run her fingers over the figure, remembering it's texture and feel underneath her touch. There was excitement to her motions that she was trying so hard to suppress, but he easily saw past the facade. Yet, he said nothing and instead watched her admire the figure she had once given him. "What were the three teachings again? The arrow, bow, and what was the last one?"

"The forest."

"Right, forest... Together we are stronger than one... That's how it went, right?" Alistair questioned knowingly as he watched Kathalla holding the figure.

She immediately knew what he was getting at – the bond that the two of them once shared. It was a callous thing for him to mention after what he did a month ago. She should have forgotten by now and moved on, but couldn't. There was no end, there was no resolution. The two bit their tongues and held their breath as they put on the strong fronts that they learned to master, in order to save Ferelden and Thedas. The two of them were never allowed to cry, scream, and let any emotion surface – for an entire month.

Her response to his question never came. The woman slowly lowered the figure to the table and averted her gaze from Alistair. There were so many ways to respond to his words, so many wrong ways and not enough that would be satisfying enough. Knowing he wouldn't understand her, she spoke in elven, "You dug the blade into my back, and twisted it when you walked away." Kathalla then gestured, placing her hand over her heart as emotions started to well up to the surface which she had denied for so long. "It was a game. You hunted me down and tamed me like I was your prey. You had your fun and then just left, even when I tried to talk you out of it and pleaded... I wish I had never let Morrigan have her ritual!"

While he wasn't able to understand the words she was speaking, Alistair remained quiet and let her speak in the foreign tongue. It was helping, apparently, and he was able to see as her face grew flushed, she spoke with conviction, and the tears were appearing within her eyes. It hurt him to see this, but he knew Kathalla was a strong woman, almost too strong at times, and too burdened to let anyone help her. She was a hard nut to crack, too self reliant, and he hurt her when she accepted him. These were things that Alistair knew and tortured himself with since they parted ways. But even he understood that there wasn't any silver lining anymore and that they both dangled on emotional tight-ropes, able to fall into the well of emotion and let them be overwhelmed by it if something didn't give soon.

Slowly, he reached out to take her free hand, but she quickly pulled it away. Sparing him no more pain from her words, she slammed an angry fist onto the table and cried out in words he'd understand, "Vir Assan, let your prey not suffer!"

Saying it was almost too much for her. All at once, those floodgates burst open. Her stomach felt weak, and her knees felt as though they were going to give out from underneath her. Tears escaped and trailed down her face, hot and bitter as they stung her eyes, and she began to shake, reverting to the elven tongue to cry out anymore of those curses and harsh jabs towards the man she loved.

The moment Alistair saw the tears start rolling down her cheeks; he stood and approached her, attempting to hush her words and pull her close into his embrace. This time though, he turned his face away, in case she was to try and attack him again... But that attack never came. Instead, she buried her face within the material at his chest and wept, surrendering herself to him - finally.

It should have been a happy moment, but that was far from the reality. Alistair held her there within his arms as she wept. Everything came out at once, her hatred for Alistair just giving up on her - after everything they had been through and shared together, how she was the only Warden left after the arch-demon's death and still had to fight for respect in certain areas due to her race, how all but one of her friends had left and not even attempted to correspond with her, and how her people were foolishly happy when she knew deep down that the troubles that plagued her race would rise again. As grand as the adventure was, as much as the bards will share the stories of the Wardens of Ferelden, this was not how she wanted it to end. It was bitter, cold, and ached within her heart.

But, she was the great hero of Ferelden. She had to put on a strong face in public while the people of Ferelden were happy with their reclaimed freedoms... As did their King.

The two of them remained there, at the corner of the table, holding onto each other and finally allowing the release of their emotions until their legs could no longer support themselves. So, they moved to rest against a far wall, still holding onto each other, almost desperately – hoping to not get swept into the painful tide and get lost from each other's grasp. As the floodgates emptied and there was little emotion left within them, they found themselves having trouble keeping their eyes open and fell asleep as the fires and celebration still roared outside.


	5. The Corvus

The party had just recently left Lake Calenhad and the Circle Tower. They were currently making their way to their next destination: Redcliffe. As they walked, they conversed of things – things that had been and other things that they were contemplating with their futures and fates.

The journey was long, as they walked along the winding paths around the vast expanse of the lake, which also sat along Redcliffe's edge. They were almost near their destination when they turned from a direct road and traveled through the wilds – a direct shortcut rather than walk around an additional few miles just to stay on the road. The wilds looked safe, and the party at this point consisted of Alistair, Kathalla, Leliana, and Morrigan. The group was able to handle themselves well enough on their own, so whatever dark threats were lurking in those woods didn't concern the party.

"The Chantry isn't that bad, Morrigan. Don't you believe in the Maker at all?" Leliana asked the female apostate, who only retorted bitterly in return. The two women had been going at it for a while now with their bickering argument over Maker versus magic.

Listening to them was almost enough to make Alistair roll his eyes. At times he wanted to interject with his own opinions, but even he was smart enough to know that it was dangerous territory to tread into.

As the party came upon a clear pass in the woods, Kathalla suddenly stopped in her tracks and held up a hand to alert her party that something had caught her attention.

"What is it?" Alistair lowly whispered to the elf as he glanced around their surroundings and flexed his iron plated fingers, getting twitchy that there could be danger nearby. "Is it Darkspawn?"

Kathalla shook her head. "No, definitely not Darkspawn." It was one of those moments where the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, knowing that something was wrong, despite there being no immediate evidence of such.

There were no visible tracks that she could see in the dirt, and the plants looked undisturbed. Everything seemed natural and serene, just as it should. Yet, she withdrew her daggers, and upon doing so, her party members suddenly prepared themselves for whatever may come at them – if there was anything out there, even.

Slowly and cautiously, she moved forward, leading the group into the clearing. Kathalla didn't see any traps or tripwires though. The Warden then stopped and frowned at her surroundings. Maybe she was wrong and nothing was actually there? After the Circle Tower, her nerves had been a bit high strung. She had never encountered half of the things that she witnessed within that tower: abominations, demons, and the Fade. So, it could have just been her nerves getting to her.

As the elf's thoughts started to wander, there was a sound from one of the nearby bushes. Kathalla didn't catch it. By the time it registered within her mind, and she spun around to greet that noise, a person was leaping at her with daggers held high over his head. It was a face she couldn't distinguish, as the bright sun shone behind him, casting dark shadows on the figure. Yet, she saw that wicked smile and it was enough to unnerve her.

Immediately, the party reacted. Alistair quickly pushed Kathalla out of the way to take the attack full on with his shield as Leliana pulled an arrow from her quiver and knocked a few towards the person, and Morrigan made use of her ice spells to try and slow the blood within the person's veins and chill his very movements.

Once she regained herself, Kathalla moved in quick motions and met her blade with the assassin's before delivering a swift kick to his stomach. The assassin quickly fell to the ground and dropped his blades. "I submit!" He cried out in pain before raising his hands to show his near immediate surrender.

The party was not so inclined to back down. Leliana held a loaded arrow within her bow in his direction, and Alistair continued to point the tip of his blade at the assassin's neck. "Who sent you?" Alistair demanded.

The assassin panted in short breaths, no doubt still feeling his stomach reeling from the kick that winded him. "I-I cannot tell you... They will take my life."

"And what makes you believe that we would not do the same?" Morrigan asked with an air of superiority.

Kathalla watched as her party members interrogated the man for answers, but something drew her back from joining in... He was an elf, like her.

"Quiet!" She ordered the bunch. Their gazes all turned towards her before they lowered their weapons and quickly quieted down from their barrage of questions. With a blade still in hand, Kathalla knelt down and placed it against the other elf's throat. "You will answer the question, or your life is forfeit." It was a bluff on her part, but she was hoping to sound persuading enough to get the man to talk.

Whether it was her persuading manner that worked or not, the assassin smiled towards the Warden as he regarded her. "A Dalish elf? I was never told the Grey Warden was an elf."

The way he spoke, in a detached manner from one of his own kin, threw Kathalla off a bit, but she recovered quickly enough. "Answer, now," she commanded him.

The assassin laughed. "My dear, I admire the fact that you're trying to sound threatening, but I've had a blade to my throat most of my life. Either you kill me, or they kill me – it matters little to me." There was a pause before he finally answered. "I am Zevran Arainai, an Antivan Crow. I was sent with the task to kill the Grey Wardens."

"An Antivan Crow?" Leliana questioned as her face darkened. Kathalla glanced in her friend's direction, a bit lost on if that should mean anything to her or not. So, the Orlesian clarified in a somber tone, "The Antivan Crows are some of the best known assassins in all of Thedas. Someone certainly paid a large price to have you two killed."

That explanation did not sit well with Kathalla. Turning back to look at Zevran, she tried to question him for answers as to who hired him, but he would not speak – stating he didn't know who signed the contract. "But," he added, noting a glimmer of hope within his voice. "It is safe to say that you have defeated me, and I am at your mercy. You can take my life here, or you can have me join you. The other Crows will think that I perished attempting to finish the hit, and I can be another man at your side to aid you in your fight."

"Woah, no way!" Alistair quickly tossed back. "He tried to kill us. What's to stop him from trying it again? I say we deal with him here and not drag him along to stab us in the backs or poison our water pouches."

Zevran laughed at Alistair's reaction. "Well, with me, you have someone who knows the inner workings of the Crows. If you kill me here and they send others, you're as good as sitting ducks in a barrel, Grey Warden."

This was true, and Kathalla knew it. She watched the other elf carefully, analyzing his movements and reactions to their words.

"T'was me who had to decide, I would not believe this elf," Morrigan warned lowly as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "He appears to be trying to salvage what little ounce of dignity he has to remain alive."

"You can see through to my bitter black heart, m'lady. I like that." Zevran smirked wryly in Morrigan's direction, which elicited a cynical hiss from her. "Really though, I am looking for a way out of the Crows. I am skilled, I am offering my services, and I make a wonderful companion for a beautiful woman such as yourself," he surmised while turning back towards Kathalla, smirk shifting into a wide grin.

"Watch it, buddy..." Alistair warned, as his eyes narrowed in on the assassin, unamused with the suddenly flirty tone.

"If you spare me, my life will be indebted to you. You may do with me what you wish, whether that be taking me along or disposing of me. Does that sound negotiable?"

The Warden still gazed deeply at the Crow, watching for any subtle shifts in his demeanor and words. She remained silent for a long time as his words replayed within her mind, unsure of what would be the best option. Kathalla didn't know what the Antivan Crows were, and she certainly didn't know this person or who sent him... But, eventually, she came to a decision. The Warden replaced her dagger back in its sheath and stood up, "Agreed."

"What? You can't be serious, Kathalla!" Alistair protested as he watched his fellow Grey Warden extend a hand to help the assassin up to his feet. "You know he's just going to try and kill us again!"

In a calm manner, the Dalish elf smiled towards her fellow Warden. "And what makes you think we won't be capable of handling him if that were to happen? We're fighting darkspawn, after all. I'm sure one simple little assassin won't be much of a big deal to us."

Alistair's brow lowered pensively while the other two female companions regarded Zevran with some hesitation, but didn't interject against Kathalla's wishes.

"You make a good point there," Zevran noted with a pointed finger. "_If_ I were to try again, I doubt very much that I will be successful and live to return to Antiva, anyway."

For some reason, his demeanor made Kathalla smile. "Let's continue to Redcliffe then," she nodded before side-stepping towards Alistair and lowly remarking, "Everyone is deserving of a second chance, Alistair, even you... Plus, we can use the added help. The more on our side, the better, right?" Her smile brightened then and he could do nothing more than blink in her direction.

She was so calm, so compassionate and composed – yet naive, like him, with the way the filth of the world worked itself into the hearts and minds of the people of Thedas. Her compassion made his heart swim, especially when she smiled the way she often did, always looking to the bright side of a situation, despite the impending darkness that their future held for the last two remaining Grey Wardens of Ferelden.

"A warning, Crow," Kathalla called out towards Zevran in a sobered tone as she glanced back to see him already flirting with Leliana and Morrigan. "I'd watch my step if I were you. I've hunted game much bigger than crows throughout my life." For some strange reason, the words elicited a wicked grin from the assassin. Not the reaction that Kathalla was expecting, but she accepted it.

With another addition to their ranks, the Warden's party grew stronger. Vir Adahlen: The strength and bond of the forest.


	6. Clemency

Dawn slowly made its way over the horizon and the sun started to creep higher into the sky the next morning, the light poured its way into the windows of the small hut, coming to land on the faces of both Kathalla and Alistair. She stirred and slowly woke up, although the sun hurt her eyes more than usual. Her eyes were red and swollen from the amount of tears shed.

Kathalla moved. She found that they were no longer on the floor, but in the bed of the spare room - still clothed from last night. Her mother must have asked Zevran to help move them both. Slowly, she rose, and her body ached as though she had been sparring for hours. A backwards glance was offered towards Alistair, who remained fast asleep. He didn't sleep much on his two days of travel to find the new Dale encampment so he was in a deep slumber now.

She then rose, and slowly staggered her way out of the room. Kathalla felt utterly drained and exhausted - a feeling she always hated.

"How is he doing, Dal'en?"

Kathalla looked to see her mother sitting at the small table with a cup of tea and some food upon her plate. She was old, well into her years with grayed hair and a wrinkled complexion, but she was still sharp as a nail. "He's sleeping," was the simple response back to her mother.

"And that mark...?" Her mother indicated by tapping along her cheekbone, pointing out that she saw the bandaged wound on Alistair's face.

"He'll be fine." It was another simple response to a simple question. Kathalla wasn't in the mood to discuss and fight over her actions from the previous night. Her mother knew of her daughter's growing impulsiveness of late and didn't approve of it.

She moved to the window as her mother poured Kathalla a cup of tea, which she took and continued to glance outside. The large fire still smoked. Whatever remained of the feast outside was picked apart by the wild creatures they shared the woods with - a gift for them as well. Hardly anyone stirred from their tents and huts, and it seemed as though everyone was feeling like she had, but for a different reason.

Of course, not everyone was quite as hung over and content to stay asleep like many others. She caught sight of Zevran leaving a tent and fixing his shirt on the way out. A smirk appeared upon her face as she watched him quietly make his escape from whatever women or men he bedded for the evening.

As sure as the daylight returns every morning, he quietly approached her hut and offered a light rap against the door. Kathalla assured her mother of who it was, who made a face in return - having mixed feelings of her daughter associating herself with the Antivan elf, before she opened the door to let him in.

"Thanks. I'm usually good with good-byes, but I do not want to be in that tent when their partners wake up," he grinned in self-amusement. Looking towards Kathalla, Zevran added, "So how is the dirty ol' Shem doing, huh?"

The Warden remained quiet and instead chose to hide her face behind her cup of tea.

A smirk appeared on Zevran's face as a brow arched upwards curiously. "Oh, so you two made up, yes? And I didn't even have to drug either of you. I say that's a fine start to the day!" Of course, since he did help her mother move Alistair, he already knew that and was teasing her. "So, how was your night, my friend? Did you have yourself some tasty little morsels with the King?"

The last comment of his immediately caused Kathalla's mother to start choking on her tea at the mere thought before she could recover and toss Zevran a dirty look.

"Good morning to you too, m'lady!" He cheerfully offered towards her mother, smiling wickedly.

"We slept," Kathalla corrected him to further save herself any added embarrassment.

"Well, yes, I got that across. I slept last night too."

With a sigh, Kathalla added, "No, we actually _slept,_ and he's still sleeping."

"Oh," Zevran started, a bit disappointed. "So, that bandage on his cheek wasn't from a love bite?"

Now Kathalla visibly pinched at her brow in annoyance, "Creators grace, Zevran!"

The Antivan grinned shamelessly. "Oh, you love it. If you didn't, you wouldn't have chosen to travel with me for so long, no? So, deal with it, sister."

And, yes, he was right. She knew that much. The three of them set down at the table while the elves outside slowly arose from their slumber in the late morning. They conversed of different things: traditions and new ideals, of certain rites of passage and the meanings between the Dalish and the Antivan, as well as other matters. It wasn't until the afternoon had come that Zevran decided it was safe enough to head back outside again and Kathalla's mother left to help the settlement with whatever work she could provide. They had both left the Warden to be alone to her thoughts...

The door to the bedroom finally opened some time later, and a very confused and groggy Alistair made his presence known with a loud yawn. "How'd I end up in there?"

"Zevran," Kathalla replied towards the human.

He paused and glanced around himself, as though making sure he was still in one piece. "I am _so_ not going to ask for details on that..."

The response, which was so characteristically Alistair, caused Kathalla to smirk towards him as he approached and moved to plant a light kiss upon her forehead. "I hope you slept well, at least."

She nodded towards him. The smirk didn't last for long though, as all signs of amusement left her face rather quickly while she still glanced towards Alistair. "And you?"

"Fantastic, considering I haven't slept in days. But, I'm really hungry right now." He glanced around the small hut for anything that looked remotely edible, and quickly pointed towards the overflowing sack of herbs that were moved since last night. "And don't you dare tell me to eat that stuff again!"

Kathalla didn't. She got up from the table and went to the hearth, which had its fire snuffed out hours ago. "Here," she returned before tossing a bowl in his direction. The elf was careful enough to not allow the contents to spill as she offered it to him. It was a vegetable stew that had bits of red meat in it, hare, and it was cold.

Alistair didn't protest the cold stew, but he did sift through its contents with a wooden spoon for a moment, trying to decipher what he was going to eat.

"I didn't poison it," Kathalla scoffed.

Blinking in confusion, Alistair looked up and offered, "I didn't think you did..." He then gathered a spoonful and popped it into his mouth. It wasn't bad tasting, actually. The stew was quite savory, yet lacked the sweetness that he was used to. After taking a few more hungry spoonfuls, he decided to brave a table conversation with her. "Do you remember that time at camp when we were all talking about the food we missed from home? I said I missed bread pudding the most and you... It was some dessert, right? What was it called again?"

Kathalla offered a sidelong glance in his direction with little amusement in her features, "Manera."

"Right!" He beamed at recognizing the word. "Wasn't that the pastry with berries and nuts?"

The elf nodded.

"Can I – you know, try it?" Alistair started. "I mean, if you have any or your mother was going to make some."

His question elicited a dark gaze from the elven woman. "Are you requesting that I cook for you, King?" She asked with a scornful tone.

"What? Wait... Oh, no-no-no! I mean... If you _had_ any, I was interested in tasting some after you told me about it. I didn't mean for you to actually cook or anything special for me," was his reply in a flustered tone.

"While we're at it, do you want to make a request for me to scrub out the dirt and blood from your clothes?"

Just as the spoonful of food was about to reach his lips, Alistair paused. "You're _not_ starting this again, are you? It's too early for this."

"It's the afternoon," she corrected him.

"Right, same thing," He returned to his bowl of food, but not for long. Alistair knew that he was setting himself up for a let-down, but simply had to ask. "You don't actually have spare clothes I could borrow, do you?" Pause. "I mean, I could just go shirtless or whatever – and I'm sure you wouldn't mind, but asking couldn't hurt, right?"

Kathalla's shoulders slumped and she shook her head in disbelief. "You came here, to a Dalish encampment, knowing there'd be dirt and mud, dressed in _silks_. Then you ask me for a change in clothing when you stand almost a good two feet taller than my people... Are you serious?"

Alistair blinked once more. "Well, I-I hadn't really thought of that... But, nevermind, you're right. Foolish of me to ask. I'll shut up now."

The silence lingered in that hut for a long while and well after Alistair finished consuming his bowl of stew. He sat there, glancing around the hut, taking in the subtle details while Kathalla sat at the far end from him and thumbed that figure of Andruil within her hand silently. Eventually, Alistair broke the silence with a smirk and a wry, "So, when do I get to meet your mother?"

The elf stopped playing with the figure in her hand. She didn't look towards Alistair – not yet, at least. "You're not. You're leaving."

"What?" To this, Alistair laughed. "What on Thedas makes you think I'm just going to leave?" Pause. "Wait, where are your blades?" His voice was filled with concern as he glanced around the immediate vicinity and peeked under the table to see if the blades were in the belt of her armored skirt. Another dagger to the face would be a good reason to leave, of course.

"They're in the bedroom. I'm unarmed," she rolled her eyes before standing and walking towards him. "Here, I don't want it anymore." It was the wooden figure in her hand that she was offering to him. "You've overstayed your welcome though."

With as much as Alistair wanted to call her bluff, he didn't. His brow furrowed as he saw the figure being offered back to him with those words, as though she were casting it aside with him. Regardless, he took the figure from her, but also reached for her hand. "Kathalla, I'm not leaving until we talk," he admitted in a low and sincere tone.

Her reaction was to flinch away, but she didn't and allowed her hand to be taken. Still, there was an indignant look upon her face. "We did that last night. I have nothing else to say..."

"No, you didn't," Alistair started in a calm yet stern tone. "Speaking in elven so I can't understand what you're saying is _not_ talking to me. Last night was... Emotional and we needed that. But we're not done."

Kathalla bit down on her tongue as she listened to him. "Then talk."

Alistair sighed and released her hand, shaking his head. "You're impossible to talk to, you know that? I don't know what happened, but you changed so much. What happened to the girl who used to smile? The one who saw good in everyone and wanted to help as many people as she could with words before ever using a blade?" Now feeling the frustration on his end, because it was like talking to a wall at this point, Alistair ran a hand through his hair, trying to stay composed. "It's like there's no rationality to you and you're a slave to your emotions at this point." Quickly, before she could say anything, he pointed towards her and added, "Because you're a woman – not the whole elf thing that you keep bringing up."

"People change," Kathalla started, still in that bitter tone. "You said so last night."

"Oh, by the Maker... Now you're twisting my words and using them against me!" Alistair started. He wanted to slam his fist into the table and yell, but deep down, he had a feeling that it was exactly what she wanted – him to get upset and walk away, just leave. He didn't come here to give up now. "Stop doing that and actually talk to me, Kath!"

The anger was starting to bubble just beneath the surface and her muscles grew tense as the fight mode kicked in. Yet, the elf didn't react. Instead, she turned away from him, leaning her back against the table's edge, and looked towards the far wall. One may have thought that she was turning him away, and Alistair did think that. But she was gathering her thoughts, trying to compose herself before actually speaking and asking, "Do you have yourself an heir yet?"

It may not have been exactly what Alistair wanted to hear, but it was a start. "No," he returned in a low tone. "Eamon keeps presenting me with more noble women each day. They're too blue-blooded. Stuffy... I know there's pressure, but I don't want any of them. They're not you."

That's when she glanced over her shoulder to look at him curiously.

Alistair smiled. "Liked that, huh?" He teased her. "Come on now, where's that smile? You know you want to..."

No smile ever appeared upon her face. Intentionally, but still, she wasn't in the mood to smile.

He sighed. "Really? Not even a tiny one? ...Fine."

Again, the silence filled the air as Alistair sat at the table and she stood, leaning against it and looking away from him. It was almost symbolic, if it didn't hurt so much.

"How's Vorith?"

"He misses you a lot," Alistair offered. "You should have taken him here with you. He's your Mabari hound, after all. Poor thing whimpers all the damned time unless I'm there with him."

"No, he doesn't belong here," Kathalla shrugged.

"What? Sure he does. You've seen how he loves to roll around in dirt and pee on trees."

Again she turned to look towards him – but this time the gaze was cold.

"Hey, don't give me that look again! ...I meant he'd like it because there's dirt and trees here." Pointing at her again, he adds, "I know that mind of yours just totally warped my words into some hateful thing about your people."

Mockingly, he added, "The Dalish are nothing but disgusting bandits and thieves. They don't deserve to have any rights." Looking right at her, he then leaned back in his chair. The tone in his voice changed as he very bluntly added, "They're all scum-suckers and whores, the knife ears and flat ears alike."

Quickly, she turned on him and pressed two fingers to his neck. Leaning in, she quietly noted, "I don't need a blade to kill you."

As he sat there, with her fingers lightly touching a pressure point, his eyes narrowed. "A little trick you picked up from your Crow friend? I always saw the way he looked and flirted with you... Have you slept with him yet? Because that's all knife-ears are good for, right?"

Kathalla's eyes suddenly widened in shock against his accusation, "How could you say that! You know I'd sooner give him a swift kick than do that with him! He's like a brother to me."

As she spoke, Alistair felt her fingers twitch. "But all elves are the same. How could I trust you?" His words were precise and deliberate. The elf's fingers flinched before she pressed only slightly harder, threateningly. It wasn't enough to actually do anything though. Glaring at her, Alistair sneered. "Do it. You already made me bleed and threatened me. Just get it done with already if you hate me that much, Kathalla."

The tension in the air was hot enough to spark a fire. But neither of them moved for the longest time. The heated stares were all that were exchanged, but eventually her fingers faltered again – even started to shake. There was a sharp inhalation before Kathalla withdrew her hand from him and turned away, defeated. She couldn't cry anymore, there were no more tears to be shed, and it just stung and hurt her eyes at this point. The elf couldn't harm him anymore, because she knew how she felt deep down inside.

Immediately after she spun around, Alistair's gaze softened, as well as his tone. He didn't want to do that, but sometimes you need a sledgehammer to break down a wall. "Not fun, is it?" It was the same crap she had dished out to him the previous night, only thrown back in her face to see what it felt like. Kathalla didn't verbally respond, but she did shake her head in response.

Alistair stood from his seat and wrapped his arms around her, lovingly. "Talk to me, Kath," he whispered as his arms lightly squeezed at her shoulders. "I'm sorry I hurt you, I really am."

Kathalla leaned against him and closed her eyes, relishing in the feel of the warmth in his embrace. "You're just going to leave again," she whispered back with little strength in her voice. "Nothing will change." She paused and shook her head, adding, "You could have stayed with me. I-I could have hidden in the palace. No one would have had to known."

"I thought of that, I really did. But I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that if I asked that of you, you wouldn't have turned it down. You're Dalish, you're wild and free... That-That would be like locking a songbird in a cage." He squeezed her lovingly again. "You would have hated it, and I couldn't do that to you."

He was right. She just never thought of it. Turning so that she could look up into his face, Kathalla asked, "When are you leaving?" Her tone was a bit sullen, relaying that she didn't actually want him to leave, despite pushing him away earlier.

To this, Alistair sighed. "I don't know. By now the royal guard are searching for me. I don't want them finding me here. That wouldn't be good for your people." A hand rose to brush away some hair at her cheek in a delicate manner. "I'll try to stay as long as I can though. For you – and us." He then leaned down and attempted to brush his lips against hers in a kiss.

With all of the pain they were throwing at each other, the two of them were practically wounded, but Kathalla didn't object to his motions. She leaned up on tip-toe into his kiss, remembering just how warm and sweet he tasted. When their lips parted, there was a shuddered exhalation. The elf missed that more than she was willing to admit. "You hurt me, Alistair," was whispered as she leaned against him.

"It hurt me too," he admitted lowly while embracing her. "If I could have ended it any differently, I would have. But we both know we couldn't let Anora take the throne. She would have either locked me up or executed me... And we needed to deal with the Blight." He paused before admitting lowly, "It wasn't fair to either of us."

"I know," Kathalla lowly admitted in regard to Anora and the arch-demon. "That didn't make it any easier, though." Her arms wrapped around his form and she leaned her head into his chest for comfort and support. "If I was human—"

"Don't," Alistair started, silencing her words as he looked down at the elven woman he loved. "You are beautiful, rare, exotic, and the strongest woman I have ever met. I wouldn't change anything about you. You're perfect the way you are." He then suddenly frowned. "If Cailan didn't die... If I didn't have royal blood in me, this would be so much easier." A long winded sigh escaped from his lips as he then uttered, "You're not the issue here, Kath. I am. This is all my fault, and it has been since I was born."

Now Kathalla looked up at Alistair and her features darkened in concern. He had shared the stories of his past with her and she knew how he felt about his lineage and the way he was treated. It always saddened her to hear him speak of it, even now. "Please, don't think of that right now," she commented quietly. "You can't help what runs in your blood, just as I can't help being the race that I am."

The statement struck a chord between the both of them because it was so very true on both sides. They both had their reasons where even in a perfect world, their relationship would have come into question. The fault couldn't have been pitted on either of them because it was determined before they were even born or knew of each other.

The two stood there, holding one another for some time, silently, as they relished in the scent and warmth of each other's arms. There were no tides or fires to overwhelm them this time. At the moment, there was only clarity – something the two had been desperately seeking for some time.

After a while, the door to the hut suddenly opened. It was enough of a fearful and sobering moment to get the two lovers to quickly part from one another, fearful of who may see them. An elf and a human in loving embrace. It was only Kathalla's mother. Her expression started as bright but then slowly faltered as she watched the two quickly part, as though they were doing nothing at all but standing there near each other. The older woman's gaze lingered on the two silently for a moment before she finally spoke up. "Dal'en," she beckoned with a hand before speaking in the elven tongue to her daughter.

To her mother's words, Kathalla quickly replied with a nod and headed out of the hut, for whatever reason, Alistair couldn't understand. As she left, Alistair was stuck there, standing in awkward silence as he watched Kathalla's mother. She watched her daughter head towards another hunt to help some of her fellow clansmen before fully stepping inside the hut and closing the door behind her. There was a deep inhalation before she looked towards the human with a sobered expression. "Please, sit, Alistair. I need a moment to speak with you..."


End file.
